


Picture Me Still Here

by sparkly_butthole



Series: Mshenko tumblr prompts [1]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Angst, Control Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-11 08:56:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11145135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparkly_butthole/pseuds/sparkly_butthole
Summary: Kaidan struggles through a post-war galaxy without Shepard. But is Shepard truly gone?Written for Mass Effect Relationships Week Day 2: Pictures of You





	Picture Me Still Here

On the dresser sits a photo. The photo is of a handsome man, staring straight at the camera and wearing a small smile. His shoulders are square; he sits with the natural profile of an old soldier, and his hair is worn close to the scalp. The light blue button-up accents his same-colored eyes, so sharp and clear but not cold like the sea. No ice in these eyes, only warmth.

On the dresser sits a photo of a man who hung the sun and the moon and the stars. Now it’s like the stars have taken that bright light the man was once made of and spread it amongst themselves, to hold tight until they burn out and all this is long gone. And supposedly, that is what happened. The Reapers that hang out in the sky late at night, uneasy shadows, say so.

Why Kaidan would believe that, he’s not sure. He’s not sure what to think about any of it, really. One day, he had everything he needed in this lifetime and then some, despite the ugliness of the war and the fight for survival. But all too soon there was a hurried kiss, a race for the beam, and radio silence.

Then his world fell apart.

Kaidan sighs, preparing himself for a long day. The new Council swear-in is today, which will be nothing more than a load of posturing and politics, something Kaidan was once good at, and even enjoyed in some respects, but now has no patience for. Then comes the next human Spectre induction, so at least he won’t be alone in that sense anymore. It’s a small thing, but the small things in life are what keep him going these days.

But the itinerary gets much worse. At the end of a long day, far after exhaustion sets in, there’s a meeting with the Reapers, and these are his worst missions, if they can even be called that. He will have to face Harbinger, their old enemy-turned-cautious-ally. Kaidan hates Harbinger with an undying passion, but there isn’t anything that can be done about it. Seeing as how Ghost has requested him in particular to be humanity’s ambassador to the Reapers, he doesn’t have much choice.

And Ghost will be there, too. Ghost, who has an uncanny and frankly quite creepy habit of reading Kaidan’s mind sometimes.

He shudders and runs his fingers over the photo. “I suppose we did know the score, huh,” he murmurs to the handsome man framed there. “But this is even harder than I thought it would be. I miss you every day, John. Please give me strength.”

As usual, there’s no answer, so he squares his shoulders and walks into the bright morning. It’s warm, but that warmth doesn’t spread to the ice in his heart. Not even close.

 

On the dresser sits a photo of the only man Kaidan Alenko has ever loved, but he’s not there anymore and Kaidan has work to do.

More specifically, Kaidan has to make nice and put up with this goddamned black spider-looking motherfucker while his heart is screaming and cursing and bawling in the corner.

“We are almost finished with the repairs. Soon the Citadel can go back to the Serpent Nebula.”

Well, something nice for a change- nice being, of course, a relative thing. At least the Citadel won’t be a danger to Earth anymore.

“That’s great news, Harbinger. Thank you for your hard work.”

And don’t those words just leave his mouth tasting like ash.

“We have mined 11 tons of palladium at the edge of the Far Rim that will soon arrive via the fourth fleet. Our understanding is the salarians are requesting a shipment of approximately half that. Will this request be filled? We can begin preparations if you like.”

“I don’t know, I will have to discuss it with the Council.” He makes a note on the datapad. “Next order of business?”

Harbinger drones on, emotionless. It’s all Kaidan can do to avoid using his biotics against it. Even though it’d probably swat him away like a fly. Even though it’d be pointless.

On the dresser in his bedroom sits a photo of a distant memory. Everything is pointless now.

The meeting drags on. There are several items that are concerning, but overall there are many positives. The damage done by the Reapers is slowly being cleared up, and they will soon be able to dedicate more time to actually improving civilization. Everyone will cheer.

Kaidan won’t. Kaidan can no longer cheer about anything.

He turns around and hands over the datapad to an assistant, a man with caterpillar eyebrows and stars in his drab brown eyes every single time he sees Kaidan. Eyes that are the opposite of John’s baby blues. The opposite of life and love and happiness. It makes him sick to his stomach to look at them. That probably makes him a bad person, but he no longer cares.

Ghost, until now eerily silent, makes a noise before he can walk away. It sounds suspiciously like a throat clearing.

Kaidan turns back toward the Reapers paired side by side, Harbinger’s frame wide and imposing, Ghost much smaller and far more sleek.

 _Sexy_ , Kaidan’s mind supplies helpfully.

He takes a breath and thinks about that photo. There is nothing sexy left in the universe, especially not these vile things.

He clears his throat back at it, and hopes his disgust- not just with said thing, but himself for that thought as well- doesn’t come through. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“We are requesting your presence onboard, Major Alenko.”

Kaidan startles. What the hell?

“I, uh… I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” and here he rubs the back of his neck  _just like John used to do_ , goddammit, “I mean, how can I even do that?”

In response, a door appears as though by magic in the thing’s hull, and a walkway slides out and bangs up against the dock where Kaidan stands.

On the dresser in his bedroom sits a photo of a man, and he is walking into the waiting arms of that man’s mortal enemy.

He might as well. Not much else to do anyway, really.

 

The first thing Kaidan is aware of is a Presence, the kind with a capital P. Terror possesses him, but he forces himself to be calm. There are running lights that lead him to some chamber, a strange place with dimensions that hurt his brain to look at; this wasn’t meant to be seen by any mortal, and he knows that for certain. But any awareness of that falls to the wayside and his heart stops- quite literally- for a second or two when he glances in the far corner.

On the dresser in his bedroom sits a photo of a man, and that man sits in front of him now.

Impossible, it should be, and yet.

“How?”

It comes out as a breath, something no human ear would have heard. But the man, if he is indeed a man anymore, hears him.

“There are things in this universe we can never hope to understand. Do not ask the question, for the answer will grant you no solace. But before you ask, yes, I am real,” John Shepard says, and Kaidan sinks to his knees on the soft obsidian floor.

“John, I don’t… I don’t know what to say.”

“Then don’t say anything. We never needed words anyway. I loved you the moment I saw you, Kaidan. I know you like my own heart.”

“Are you… what are you?”

“I am me,” he shrugs. “I am both what you remember and yet more. And I can make you the same. You can be one with me, if you like.”

The ice blue eyes glitter, with something like mirth, something like awe. Kaidan knows it’s reflected in the hazel of his own.

“Like you have to ask?” he whispers, still barely able to speak in fear of the apparition vanishing like smoke in the breeze. Or maybe he’s dreaming.

 _You’re not dreaming_ , says a voice in his head.

_John, this can’t be real. Can it? Can I be so lucky?_

_Kaidan, come here._

Kaidan had never been able to resist him, and so he does, and what he feels is flesh and warmth and true human contact.

And he is finally home.

 

On the dresser sits a photo gathering dust, of a man made of dust. Soon, it will go into a museum, next to a series of photos of the man and his husband, who disappeared into the jaws of a Reaper a few months after his death.

And all that will remain is a ghost.

**Author's Note:**

> Come cry with me about all things mshenko and/ or stucky on tumblr @mshenkoaddiction.


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